July 31, 2014
24 year anniversary of the day I first spoke to my birthmother
Our first meeting
The anticipation was overwhelming. How would we get along? Would we connect with each other? Would we relate to one another? Would we like each other? Questions were flooding my mind. I flew to Jacksonville, Florida alone. I could not wait to get there. When we were leaving the plane I told a stewardess about my story. She took my camcorder and filmed our reunion. It was beautiful. We saw one another at the same time. There was a recognition in our eyes. We ran into one another's arms. She hugged me tightly as if she did want let me go. We both shed tears. My adoptive mother had commented when I was a teen she did not know how I got such big feet. She only wore a size 8. I wore 9 1/2. Perhaps, because I was not born to her? 😉 The very first question I asked my birthmother was what size shoe she wore. She said 9 1/2. That was my first feeling of belonging in a family.
We hugged and touched hands often. It was a feeling similar to falling in love, though, not in a romantic way. It was a euphoric heady feeling. This has been documented in reunion stories universally. I liken it to a genetic knowing. When a person is not adopted, they take seeing theirselves in their family's DNA for granted. It is just a part of life. For adoptees we never have that continuity until we give birth to our own children.
My brother and sister were at my mother's house. We had a wonderful visit. I related very well to my siblings. My sister told me about her dream she had in April that she had two little sisters that were missing. I teased Shirley about that. Her answer to me was, "We won't talk about that now." Well, that was a rather cryptic interesting answer. When we were all sitting around visiting, we noticed how we all talked with our hands in the same way. Strange little likenesses were that I was drawn to collecting frogs beginning in my teens. My daughter did the same thing. My birthmother collected frogs. My birthmother and I share a love of licorice gum. My birthmother and I are both avid readers.
This is a good place to fill in the basic circumstances of how I came to be. My father, Dr. Bill, his two brothers and his father were doctors at the Hubbard hospital. They were all veterans from WWII as well. My mother worked as an ex-ray tech. Her husband was in the army. He was stationed in Germany. She had three children. She did not have a car. Dr. Bill was also married with three children. He would often drive her home. One thing led to another and they had an affair. When she became pregnant they did discuss options. She said with him being a physician, abortion was not out of the question. However, it was her choice to give birth to me. She continued to work there until close to her time. She discovered her husband was coming home early when she was a month from her due date. She plotted with the doctor that was treating her. He admitted her to the old Edmond Hospital and induced labor a month early. I weighed only 4 lbs. I always knew I was a small baby. I was rather sad for my small self being ripped from the familiar warmth of her body too soon and given to strangers. I was told that I was a fussy baby. I believe that was the primal wound to my soul. Being taken from my biological mother where I felt safe, knew the smells and the sound of her voice set me on a course of confusion when I was too young to understand.
She came back to Hubbard Hospital and told my father that I was stillborn. She knew he would not agree to have me adopted, I believe. He told me as much many times. He was quite bothered that he did not know that I lived. My grandfather, Dr. John C. pulled her into his office alone. He grilled her aggressively. He wanted to know what she did with that baby. She stuck to her story. He did not believe her.
Do you remember that biography that I discovered written about my grandfather? It was written in the year I was born. The last sentence in the book says, "All is well with the Hubbards." I was tickled when I read that because clearly not ALL was well with the Hubbards. 😉
Interestingly, at the time I was born, both of my parents were Protestant Christians. Dr. Bill was a Quaker turned Methodist. Shirley was a Presbytarian, I believe. My memory fails me at the moment. When I found them, they had both converted to Church of the Latter Day Saints independent of one another. At the time of our reunion, I was attending a Baptist church. I no longer practice organized religion, though, I remain a spiritual person of faith. The difference in our faith was a sticking point with Dr. Bill. He tried every which way to convert me, until I finally set boundaries letting him know I accepted him as he was. He would have to accept me as I am.
Now, I return back to the journal written in 1990.
August 27, 1990
1:25 pm
I am sitting in the Savannah airport waiting for my plane to leave to return home to my life's mate and dear companion and my two precious children. I am quite thoughtful at this moment as I have such mixed emotions. The man in the seat next to me gave me this paper after I shared my story and told him I felt the urge to write. He was quite touched with our story and, in fact, got tears in his eyes. That is what this does for people. How truly amazing.
I am pondering life at this moment. What is the purpose of it all? From the moment I was created this time was ordained. We have been being prepared through the years to arrive at this place in time. We have gone through trials and pain, but never more than we could bear. Through the trials, we learned things to make us more compassionate toward others and through that we are able to touch people.
I have never been particularly close to other women. I guess it's a competition thing, perhaps, or because women have hurt me. But, I now have in Mother a friend who I can be completely open with and know that it is okay. She and I have a real connection with one another. It is hard to comprehend, but we can be ourselves and hopefully we can help each other through some of the haunting memories of our past lives. I shared with her about the trauma in my childhood. Sadly, she also survived childhood abuse. I know from experience that it is very important to be able to share feelings to get that poison out of souls. Communicating through writing or talking is very healing for me.
I find it extremely difficult to leave Florida. I feel so at home there. I just want to plant myself in the midst of this family and bask in the love and joy I feel. That is not at all meant to take away from Jimmy and the children. I want to drag them with me to live near my family. I realize this is not possible, but I can have dreams now, can't I? I have missed so many years with Mother, Faith, and Madison and I need to be near to catch up.
The situation with the Willingham's is perplexing to say the least. I have wanted to divorce myself from them so many times in the past I can not count. To be honest, a part of me feels relief that Ruth broke the ties. I feel duty bound though; obligated to care just because of the sheer number of years of connection we have had. People have said, "giving birth does not make a woman a mother." Well, adopting a child and providing for physical needs while neglecting the inner soul does not make one a mother either. Who knows what is right on this earth? Only our Father in heaven has all the answers. If Ruth never comes around, this I know for sure, I will be fine. It is truly her problem and I will no longer accept responsibility for her actions. God's love and time will heal the bitterness I feel and "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."
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